


Contrition

by lyryk (s_k)



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: F/M, post-cotbp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-29
Updated: 2009-04-29
Packaged: 2019-07-23 20:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16166285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_k/pseuds/lyryk
Summary: Elizabeth marries James, but can she really give Will up?





	Contrition

As far as wedding nights go, this one is not going the way Elizabeth had thought hers would. Her heart is with her lover, and she visualises him in his smithy, furiously working at his furnace to keep his mind off the fact that she is in bed with her new husband. 

James enters the room, and his eyes fall on her, sitting on the bed with her back against the headboard, her arms hugging her knees. She curls her toes tightly under the lacy folds of her wedding dress as she looks up at him. He is still in his dress uniform, but has taken off the wig, making him look more approachable. 

For a wild moment, she wonders if she can speak her mind, and tell him that she feels she will die if he touches her. The thought dies almost as soon as it enters her mind. To say a word now might endanger Will. James is a Navy man through and through, and the commander of the entire Royal Navy fleet in the Caribbean to boot. What is she thinking?

She will have to submit, to give herself up to the hard hands of a military man. Her body quivers in protest at the thought of another man’s hands on her, at the idea of giving in to a man against all my instincts, but there is nothing she can say. Nothing she can do but submit.

She holds back the howl of despair that wells up inside her chest, and forces herself to look at her husband.

He has not moved since he came in, hasn’t said a word, done nothing except look silently at her, as if trying to gauge what she’s thinking.

Finally, he sits down at the other edge of the bed. Even though he is far away from her, it takes most of her will to keep herself from shrinking back against the wall at the prospect of what is to follow.

‘You looked beautiful today, Elizabeth,’ he says gently. 

_Don’t talk_ , she thinks, trying not to let her face betray her anger and humiliation. _Don’t say a word. Just do it._

‘I know this was not what you wanted,’ he says quietly, and she looks up at him, startled. His dark green eyes are very earnest. ‘Don’t dread being in my presence, Elizabeth. Don’t for a moment think that I will want anything from you that you do not freely give me.’

She opens her mouth, and shuts it again. No words come to mind. To her absolute horror, his words trigger a wave of self-pity in her, and she eyes begin to sting. She looks away hastily, feeling his gaze on her for a long moment before he stands and removes his coat and cravat.

He comes over to the bed again, and picks up a pillow from his side of the bed. ‘I would sleep in another room, but the servants will talk,’ he says. Without waiting for an answer, he crosses the room and lies down on the couch beside the window, his back toward her.

She feels her limbs begin to relax, and she is unable to stop the tears from trickling silently down her face. She turns her face into her pillow and cries herself to sleep, trying to be as quiet as possible so that he does not hear her.

 

—

 

He is gone before she wakes. She flinches at the memory of the tears that had overwhelmed her the previous night as she flings the bedcovers off and gets out of bed.

She strips the dress off, relieved to be doing it herself, but also oddly disconsolate at waking up untouched on the morning after her wedding night, with her dress still on. _The wedding night every girl dreams of_ , she thinks sardonically as she washes at the basin beside the dressing table and dresses for the day. 

He has already left for the fort by the time she gets downstairs for breakfast, and she feels oddly disconcerted by his absence. His housekeeper, Mrs Danvers, is formal but somewhat motherly, and fusses a little over her as she breakfasts, making her feel at home.

After she finishes, she goes into his study, intending to find something to read that will still the torrent of thoughts that are threatening to engulf her brain. She is surprised to find not just maps and books on nautical subjects, but a wealth of literary treasures: Sophocles, Dante, Chaucer, Milton, Shakespeare, Marlowe. He even has a first edition of an Aphra Behn play. Many of the books appear well-thumbed, and she is careful not to disturb the bookmarks as she looks over the books.

The room itself is pleasantly warm and comfortably furnished, if a little spare. She pulls back the curtains and curl up in an armchair with _Oroonoko_ , and it is well into the morning by the time she realises that she has not once thought of Will.

The thought is confusing. She had thought that she would stay away from Will for as long as possible, but she had not considered not having the urge to run to him as soon as her husband was out of the house. And yet, here she is, in his study, in his armchair, with one of his books in her lap, feeling curiously at peace in his quiet house.

 _Our house_ , she corrects herself silently. For she is his wife now. 

And yet he has not treated her as a man would treat a wife.

Or has he? Her thoughts become even more confused as she finally allows herself to think back explicitly about the previous night. He has treated her with the greatest amount of respect and understanding, and surely that is what a wife would want, next to love?

Unable to sit still anymore, she puts on her bonnet, tells the housekeeper that she’s going out for a walk, and escapes to the lonely stretch of beach where she has had many an illicit tryst with Will.

Only to find him there, reclining against a rock, tossing stones into the water lapping at his feet.

‘Elizabeth,’ he says, startled. ‘I didn't think I would see you today.’

‘Will,’ she whispers, the sight of him pushing all semblance of thought from her mind. She pulls her dress up so as not to get it wet and splashes out to meet him. His arms are around her the instant she throws hers around him, and she buries her face in his neck as he holds her close against him.

‘Was it very bad?’ he asks hoarsely, his voice tight. 

She pulls her head back to look at his drawn face as he strokes her hair tenderly. ‘Was what very bad?’

‘Last night,’ he says, sounding most tortured, and she holds back a giggle. 

‘No.’ She smiles. ‘He didn’t touch me, Will.’

‘He didn’t?’ Will’s eyes narrow. ‘Why not?’

She shrugs. ‘He is a good man, Will. Better than we thought.’

‘He didn’t touch you at all?’

She takes Will’s face between her hands. ‘No, darling,’ she whispers against his lips. 

‘But you—you slept in the same bed with him?’ Will asks, still sounding anguished.

‘No, Will.’ She bites back a twinge of annoyance. ‘He slept on the sofa.’

His eyes clear and he turns her around, pressing her back against the rock. ‘So I’m still the only man who’s ever touched you?’ His eyes are alight with desire and possessiveness. 

‘Yes, Will,’ she whispers as his strong hands push her dress up around her thighs. ‘Only you.’ She clutches at his hair as his fingers find their way between her legs.

He lets out a moan of desire and takes her mouth hungrily with his own as his hand clamps down between her legs and squeezes insistently, making her gasp.

She closes her eyes, ready to give herself up to Will’s familiar touch, but out of the blue, her mind throws a recollection at me.

_Don’t for a moment think that I will want anything from you that you do not freely give me._

‘Will, wait. Not here. Not now.’

His other hand tangles in her hair as he pulls her head back and lavishes kisses upon her throat. ‘I want you, Elizabeth. Oh god, I want you so much.’

‘Not here, Will. Not like this.’ She tries to calm her mind as she pulls away from him, smoothing her dress over her thighs, and he groans and wraps his arms tightly around her waist, burying his face between her breasts.

‘When?’ he asks, his voice hoarse with desire. 

‘Soon, Will. As soon as the time is right. I’ll come to you, I promise.’ She smoothes her hair into place under her bonnet and gives him a last kiss before pulling away. 

She turns and flees from the sound of the ocean and the searing, desperate heat of her lover’s touch.

 

—

 

She expects to feel a great many things when she sees James again, but guilt is not one of them.

And yet, guilt is the most predominant emotion running through her as she sits across the table from him during dinner. Despite the fact that she and Will have quite thoroughly explored each other’s bodies in the past, the memory of how he touched her that morning makes her cringe at how James might react if he ever finds out about it.

‘Are you feeling all right, Elizabeth?’ he asks, laying the evening paper aside as the maid finishes serving the first course and leaves the room. ‘You look a little flushed,’ he goes on, looking at her with concern.

‘I—I’m fine. I just… walked a lot today.’

‘Well, you must be hungry, then.’ He smiles warmly and holds out the basket of rolls to her, and she takes one automatically.

‘I also read a little,’ she goes on. ‘In your study. I hope you don’t mind. You have such lovely books.’

‘Of course I don’t mind,’ he says. ‘I’m glad you’re enjoying the books.’

There is silence for a while as they eat. ‘How was your day?’ she asks after a while. It seems like the wifely thing to ask.

He looks up from his plate. ‘It was busy. Thank you for asking. And that reminds me… I need to go to Morant Bay for a fortnight. We’re setting up a new base there.’

‘Oh.’ She twists her napkin with one hand, unable to think of anything else to say.

‘I was thinking you might want to go back to your father’s house while I am away, if you’d like to.’

She raises her eyebrows. ‘And won’t people talk, if I do that?’

He sighs and pushes a lock of dark hair away from his forehead. ‘I don’t really care what people think, Elizabeth, if it is a question of your comfort that comes first. I just thought you might be happier there.’

She finds herself inhaling sharply. ‘If you want to send me away, James—’

‘No, Elizabeth,’ he cuts in quickly. ‘Stay here, by all means. My apologies if I offended you. I just wanted to assure you that I would not think badly of you if you wanted to stay at… your father’s house sometimes.’

She stares at him, holding her breath. Is he really saying what she thinks he’s saying? That little pause… it is almost as if he is giving her permission to go away to Will whenever she pleases.

 _I could do it_ , she thinks, almost giddily. _I could stay at Will’s place sometimes, and the official reason could be going to my father’s house. No one would doubt it, and as long as I stay out of sight at Will’s, and come and go under cover of darkness, so one would ever know._

But there is James to think of. Even if he really is implying what her mind thinks he might be, to actually go through it would be the worst disrespect possible. And somehow, despite her longing for her love, she cannot bring herself to consider doing anything that would be so flagrantly disrespectful to this man, who has treated her thus far with nothing but the utmost kindness and respect.

‘Elizabeth?’ A little frown creases his forehead, and his hand moves forward, as if to touch hers, but he withdraws it before their hands can touch. The simple gold band around his ring finger glints softly in the candlelight. ‘I really am sorry if I offended you,’ he says quietly. ‘It is just that I do not want you to feel any lack of freedom.’

‘I don’t,’ she blurts out quickly. ‘You’re… you’ve been wonderful. I like being in your house. It’s peaceful and quiet and… and I am honoured to be here.’

He gives her that small smile again, and there is more than a hint of sadness in his eyes. ‘I regret that I cannot give you more, Elizabeth. That I cannot be someone else, for the sake of your happiness.’

He sets his napkin on the table, pushing his chair back. ‘If you will excuse me, I shall retire to my study for a while.’

She nods wordlessly, and he leaves the room.

She sits back in her chair, feeling suddenly exhausted. And guiltier than ever.

 

—

 

Barely a word is exchanged between them over the next few days. He leaves for work early and returns shortly before dinner on most nights, and usually spends hours in his study before coming up to bed. 

Most nights, she is asleep by the time he comes in to sleep. One night, she is half-asleep as she hears him moving around quietly, getting ready for bed. He never undresses completely, nor even removes his shirt, and she feels another pang of guilt at that. Because of her presence, he is unable even to sleep comfortably. She watches from between her lashes as he lies down on the sofa, his knees bent to enable his long legs to fit on the too-short bed. She has seen him rubbing the back of his neck more than once at breakfast, and she knows it is because the damned sofa does not offer enough support for his neck while he sleeps.

Before she knows what she’s doing, she sits up in bed. ‘James?’

He turns his head on the pillow to look at her. ‘Did I wake you? I tried to be quiet.’

‘No. I was awake. James, please come to bed.’

He raises himself on an elbow to look at her in the light from the moon that is streaming into the room from the window behind him. Out of nowhere, she feels her breath catch in her throat at how beautiful he looks in the moonlight. His hair is loose around his shoulders and looks dark as midnight, and his eyes are a silvery green. 

‘Are you certain?’ he asks. ‘I’m perfectly fine here, and I wouldn’t want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable.’

‘I’m certain,’ she says firmly, and he smiles swiftly at her before coming to lie beside her. She turns on her side so that she is facing him, and he turns to face her as well.

‘Thank you,’ he says simply, and she nods, unsure of what she’s doing but trusting him to keep his distance. If anything, the last few days have shown that he does not seem to desire to touch her in the slightest.

Recklessly, she reaches out to smooth a strand of dark hair away from his forehead, letting her fingertips linger in his hair for a moment. He lies still, his unfathomable eyes on her, and she thinks she sees a hint of a smile playing around his lips. 

Suddenly, there is nothing she wants more than to move closer to him and touch those lips with her own.

She holds herself back with a monumental effort, and he gently removes her hand from his hair and presses a kiss to her palm. She cannot move, and the touch of his lips is like fire on her skin. It is the first time they have touched since their wedding.

He moves her hand away from his lips and gives it a quick squeeze before lifting it and laying it on her pillow beside her head. ‘Good night, Elizabeth.’

‘’Night, James,’ she whispers back. The moon slips behind a cloud, hiding his face from her, and she falls asleep to the sound of his quiet breathing.

 

—

 

For once, she awakens before James does. She realises that it is a Sunday, and that he does not have to go to work. Sunday. Exactly a week since their wedding.

She lies awake for several moments, feeling oddly peaceful as she looks at him sleeping. His unbound hair frames his face, and he looks curiously young and vulnerable. A wave of warmth rushes through her at the memory of the brief touch they had shared the previous night, and she feels a flush creep over her cheeks. What is she thinking? Is she really craving his touch now, when she had been so certain just a few days ago that her heart belonged to another?

She has been trying not to think of Will for the past few days, trying not to replay the memory of his touch in her mind. The date of James’s leaving is drawing closer, and she knows that Will will not lose the opportunity to try to meet her while James is away. The thought of what she and Will might do in her husband’s absence is as disturbing now as it is exciting, and she’s not sure why.

She slips out of bed and dresses quickly before heading down to the kitchen. James stirs in bed as she re-enters the room, turning over on his back before opening his eyes.

‘I thought you might like a cup of tea in bed,’ she says as she sits down beside him, holding the cup and saucer carefully in her lap.

He pushes his mussed hair out of his eyes and sits up, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. ‘Thank you. That was very thoughtful of you.’

She hands him the cup and looks down at her hands, unsure of what to say.

‘What do you usually do on Sundays?’ she asks after a while, curious.

He smiles. ‘Well, last Sunday I was getting married,’ he says, his eyes twinkling, and she flushes involuntarily. 

He laughs. ‘I like to go out to sea.’

‘Do you have a boat?’ she asks.

‘A sloop,’ he smiles. ‘Would you like to see her?’

‘Very much.’ The thought of being at sea again is exhilarating, and she feels a wave of excitement.

‘Very well, then,’ he says solemnly. ‘I shall take you sailing sometime, if you’re of a mind to do so.’

‘Can we go today?’ she asks eagerly.

‘I don’t see why not,’ he smiles. 

‘Thank you!’ She jumps up in her excitement, and he chuckles. 

He has washed and dressed by the time she has packed their lunch, with more than a little assistance from the cook.

 

—

 

A little over an hour later, they are sailing out of the harbour in his lovely little boat. The _Bird_ is painted blue and white, and her white sail catches the strong wind easily, taking them out to sea quickly.

James emerges from the cabin in simple black breeches and a white, open-necked shirt, barefoot. ‘You should change, too. Corsets and many-layered dresses are not meant for sailing,’ he grins.

She goes into the cabin and strips off her heavy dress thankfully, hesitating only a moment when she reaches her corset. She removes all her clothes and puts on the shirt and breeches that he has left for her on the bed, and binds her hair at the nape of her neck before going back outside.

He eyes her appraisingly, and she flushes slightly, suddenly conscious of her bare and unsupported breasts under his shirt. ‘Are you comfortable?’ he asks, and she realises that she is. 

‘I wish I could dress like this every day,’ she says unabashedly, and he laughs and tosses her an apple from their basket. She leans against the railing and chews contentedly on the fruit, watching him as he steers the sloop. The silence between them is companionable, and she has rarely felt anything that has felt as good as the wind on her face and the gentle spray of the ocean on her body.

It has been a long time since her mind has felt as free as it does now, since her body has felt so completely relaxed, and she knows that she owes it all to James. Not only because he has brought her sailing that day, but also because he has allowed her the space to explore her mind and attempt to sort out her feelings. She turns around and leans her elbows on the railing, letting the spray wet her face. 

The thought of Will is still more than a little unsettling, and she pushes it firmly away for the moment, turning back to James.

‘May I have a turn?’

‘Of course.’ He steps away from the helm, and she places her hands on the spokes of the wheel, warm from the sun. She imagines that they are also warm from his touch, and the thought sends a thrill down her spine. To have those strong hands on her, caressing her body the way that they have caressed the helm of his boat… For a brief moment, she wishes she were not quite as adept as she is at handling a boat, so that he might have put his arms around her and helped her to handle the wheel. She smiles slightly at the thought, and at the realisation that the thought of trying seduce James has not occurred to her at all, no matter how strongly she is attracted to him. With him, she is just myself. Just Elizabeth… and she needs to be no more or no less.

‘Are you enjoying yourself?’ he asks, smiling at her as he leans against the railing.

She pushes a wayward strand of hair out of her eyes and nods, smiling back at him. ‘I love this. Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome to take her out anytime you want to,’ he says, still smiling easily at her, and her heart leaps at his words.

‘You’d trust me to take her out on my own?’

‘Of course. You’re a born sailor.’

She flushes at his words, and turns her face away to hide her pleasure at the compliment.

‘Would you like to see my little island getaway?’ he continues, and she turns back to catch the most charming, boyish grin on his face.

‘That sounds most enticing,’ she laughs.

The little island looks small and green, and as they approach it, she feel his arms on either side of her as he leans in to place his hands on hers. 

‘Watch those rocks,’ he says calmly against her ear, and she knows that he is assisting her not because he doubts her ability to steer, but because he knows these waters well, having sailed this route so often. His closeness is nothing less than enchanting, and she feels her breath stolen by the feel of his firm hands on hers, and the warmth of his body against hers, through the shirts that they are wearing. 

They steer the boat together into the small cove, and he dives overboard to bind her mooring rope against a rock. Unable to resist the sparkling water, she follows suit, coming up from under him and grabbing his legs beneath the water. He yells in surprise and splashes water at her, laughing, and they are soon playing in the water like children, laughing and dunking each other.

They finally collapse at the edge of the beach, laughing breathlessly, and letting the waves lap gently over their bodies. She turns her head toward him and catches sight of the dark wet curls of hair glistening on his chest, and before she is aware of what she is doing, she reaches out to touch his bare skin. 

He turns toward her an instant before her fingers touch him. Before she can stop herself, she is leaning into his body and her mouth is against his and they are kissing. 

His mouth tastes like fresh, clean water, and the taste of him envelops her senses completely. She shuts her eyes tightly and gives herself up to the moment, gasping into his mouth as he pulls her close against his wet body. She wet hair falls around their faces and he pushes his fingers through it, holding her head and allowing her to explore his mouth with her tongue. He returns the gesture with a fervour that equals her own, claiming her mouth with a firm, controlled passion that makes her melt bonelessly against his body.

They finally pull apart for air, gasping, and she lies as close to him as she can and lays her head on his shoulder. It seems like a very chaste gesture in comparison to the almost unbearably sensual thoughts that are flooding her mind as their wet bodies lie plastered close together, but she is absolutely unsure of how to proceed, how to show him that she wants him more than anything else she has ever wanted. 

He wraps his arms around her and holds her body close to his, his lips against her hair, and she keeps stroking his chest with her fingers, marvelling at the effect that he is having on her. He caresses her wet hair gently as he holds her, and after a while, she raises her head to look down into his eyes.

His eyes are the most exquisite green she has ever seen, and the look in them is even more breathtaking than their colour. They contain a wealth of understanding and wisdom and, yes, desire—something that thrills her beyond measure—and she knows that he is holding himself back, not wanting to claim anything from her that she is not willing to give.

‘Are you hungry?’ he smiles, pushing her hair out of her eyes. 

‘I—what?’ she asks, her senses still befuddled by the kiss. He laughs and pulls himself to his knees, pulling her up with him, making her clutch at his forearms for support. 

‘We need to eat,’ he says teasingly before his face softens. ‘And we need to talk,’ he adds quietly, touching her cheek.

She nods and let go of him, allowing him to stand. 

‘Give me your breeches,’ he says with a smile, holding out his hand. She obeys without thinking, wriggling out of the wet piece of clothing and handing it to him. 

‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ he says, and she nods again, tugging her shirt down over her wet thighs. 

He returns shortly with a blanket and the basket of food, and slips out of his own breeches as well, laying both pairs to dry on a flat rock before taking her hand and leading her to sit on the blanket. His own shirt barely reaches down to mid-thigh, and she tears her eyes away from his bare legs as they sit cross-legged, facing each other.

He hands her a sandwich before biting into his own. ‘Eat,’ he says, and she bites into the sandwich. It tastes glorious, and they eat in silence. 

After they have finished the last of their freshly-squeezed orange juice, she helps him put everything away, and he sets the basket aside and puts his hand in her lap, over my clasped fingers.

‘Tell me about William,’ he says simply.

‘What do you want to know?’ she asks. He takes her chin in his other hand and tilts her head up. She wants desperately to look away from his searching eyes, but his gaze holds hers firmly.

‘Are you in love with him?’ he asks, stealing her breath away with his directness.

‘I—I thought I was.’ It is the most honest reply she can think of to give him, and she says it without premeditation.

‘And now?’

‘I don’t… I don’t know.’

‘Elizabeth,’ he says gently, cupping her face in his hands. ‘I don’t want you to feel trapped or cornered in any way. I didn’t bring you out here to interrogate you. I just wanted you to have a pleasant day.’

‘I am,’ she says quickly, reaching up to touch his face. ‘I… it’s been a lovely day, James. It’s been one of the best days I’ve ever known.’

‘I appreciate your saying that,’ he says, taking her hand in his and kissing the palm of it softly, as he had the previous night.

‘I mean it, James. I love being with you. I… I hadn’t realised I would.’

He nods in understanding. ‘Is it too painful to talk about him?’

‘I… no. No, I can talk about him. You… you deserve to know the truth.’

‘And what is the truth?’

‘Before the wedding, I promised Will I would continue to see him after I was married.’ She looks out at the waves as she speaks, unsure if she will be able to continue if she’s looking into his eyes.

‘My heart was breaking, James. I loved one man and I was marrying… someone else. The only way I could make sense of it, the only way I could bear the pain, was to tell myself that I would see him again, that it was not the end of what I had with him.’

‘I asked you thrice if you were sure you wanted to marry me, Elizabeth,’ he reminds her gently.

‘I know. I know you did.’ She turns back to him in desperation. ‘I couldn’t say no, James. You had done nothing wrong, and my father had his heart set on my marrying you.’

‘So you married me because your father wanted me for a son-in-law?’ he asks softly, guilelessly.

She groans and drops her head into her hands. ‘I suppose I did,’ she says, her voice muffled by her hands. ‘I’m such an idiot, James. I’ve made such a mess of everything.’

‘You’ll have no arguments from me about that,’ he says gravely, and she looks up at him to catch the twinkle in his eyes.

‘James, stop being horrid.’

He laughs and lies back on the blanket, linking his fingers behind his head. ‘What would you like me to say? That you handled the situation remarkably well, and did not exacerbate it in a way that might cause three hearts to break?’

‘Are you saying this is completely my fault?’ she asks, her voice very small. She knows she has no right to expect his forgiveness, but she cannot stop herself from craving a kind word from him.

‘No,’ he says immediately, ruefully. ‘It was mine and William’s as well, just as much as it was yours. Mine, for not being able to see what your heart truly wanted, and his, for not being able to publicly assert his love for you, and be your husband.’

She chews on her lip and gaze morosely out to sea again, mulling over his words. After a minute, his voice breaks into her thoughts again.

‘You said you had planned to continue meeting William after we were married. Have you?’

‘Yes,’ she says almost soundlessly, looking down at her hands again. ‘Once.’

He does not ask her when or where, does not ask her if she allowed another man to touch her after they were married. When he speaks again, his voice is low and controlled.

‘I will assume that it is your intention to meet him again. Regularly.’

‘No, James.’ She speaks more sharply than she has intended to. ‘I would not do that. I cannot.’

He turns on his side, propping himself up on an elbow. ‘Why not? You said yourself that the only way you could bear the prospect of marrying me was if you would continue to meet him.’

‘That was before… before I…’ The words catch in her throat. She cannot bear to cause him any more pain.

‘I’m going away tomorrow, Elizabeth,’ he reminds her. ‘I’ll be gone for two weeks. In that time, I expect you to take a decision about what you want.’

‘What I want?’ she says blankly. ‘James, we’re already married.’

‘Marriages can be undone,’ he says quietly. ‘Your happiness— _our_ happiness—comes before what people will say. I wish to god I had thought about your feelings sooner. I wish nothing more than to undo what we have done to ourselves, but it is not too late.’

‘James, what are you saying?’ she whispers.

‘I’m saying we need to take a decision, Elizabeth. Would you like me to outline the choices we have?’

She nods wordlessly, unable to speak, and he continues in that same calm, quiet voice.

‘If you want to be with William but continue to be my wife, for society’s sake, I will not hold you back. We can continue to live in the same house, but live our own lives. I will not question you about your activities, nor will you ask me about mine.’

‘James—’

‘Let me finish,’ he says firmly. ‘Alternatively, we can approach the church and have our marriage annulled. You and William can be together, the way you had always wanted.’

‘Is there a third option?’ she says softly, feeling as if he has torn her heart out with his words.

‘Hypothetically, the third option would be if we could live together as man and wife, if our hearts could belong only to each other. But I don’t think there is any possibility of that. If you were truly to be my wife, I would not be able to share you with another.’ He rolls over on to his back again and pushes a hand through his hair, staring up into the sky.

‘What if… what if I were to say that that possibility is not hypothetical? That I could… truly… be your wife?’

He glances at her, and looks away again. ‘I cannot deny that that is what I had hoped our marriage would be, Elizabeth. Just you and I, and no one else in between. I have been a fool, just as much as you have. Perhaps more so.’

‘Do you love me?’ she asks quickly.

‘I would not have asked you to marry me, if I had not loved you.’

‘And now?’

‘I would uphold the vows I made to you if I could, Elizabeth. If you could tell me truly that your heart belongs to me, and to no other.’

‘I… James, I…’

‘Don’t say anything now,’ he says gently, taking her hand and squeezing it lightly as he sits up. ‘Think about it while I am gone, and give me your answer when I return.’

 

—

 

The next morning passes in a blur of activity as she helps James to pack his bags for his visit to Morant Bay. She feels disconsolate at the thought of his being away and wants nothing more than to go with him, but she knows she owes him an answer, and that he has been nothing less than absolutely fair to her. 

They have not kissed again, or touched each other intimately, although the memory of sharing the bed with him the previous night, and the kiss he laid on her forehead before they fell asleep, is enough to make her feel that she still has a part of his heart, and that he will accept her should she choose to stay with him and be his wife.

‘I never had anyone help me pack before,’ James says, smiling warmly at her as she slips a stack of clean handkerchiefs into his bag.

Before she can respond, Mrs Danvers appears at the open door to their bedroom. ‘Begging your pardon, Commodore,’ she says apologetically, ‘but you have a visitor.’

‘Go on and see who it is,’ James says, pulling on his coat. ‘I’ll be down in a minute.’

She enters the parlour and freezes at the sight of Will standing by the window.

‘What on earth are you doing here?’ she hisses at him, leaving the door open as she approaches him. ‘James is home!’

He raises his eyebrows at her tone. ‘I had hoped you would be more pleased to see me. I have neither seen you nor heard from you in a week.’

‘So you decided to come to my house?’ she snaps. ‘Are you out of your mind?’

‘Don’t worry your pretty head about it, Elizabeth,’ he says coldly. ‘I’m only here to make a delivery.’ He inclines his head toward two long boxes on the table, and she relaxes a little.

‘Oh. Well, you can just leave them there. James is just about to leave, and I don’t think he has the time to see you.’

‘I need him to sign for the order,’ Will says carelessly, waving a sheet of paper.

‘I can sign for that.’

‘Very well,’ he says calmly, and holds out the paper. ‘Come and get it, then.’

She stares at him, appalled by what seems to be nothing but his impudence.

She steps closer and reaches out for the bill, and he grabs her wrist. ‘Reluctant to even come close to me now, are you?’ he says softly, his tone belying the harsh grip of his hand on her wrist.

‘Will, please,’ she says softly, trying to keep her voice down. ‘Not here. Not now.’

‘I seem to remember hearing that before.’ He keeps his grip tight, and rubs at the inside of her wrist with his thumb. She closes her eyes involuntarily, the brief touch bringing back vivid memories of all that they have shared.

‘Will, please,’ she says again, trying to pull her hand away.

‘Mr Turner,’ James’s voice says calmly from the doorway, and Will drops her hand immediately.

‘Commodore,’ he says, his face flushed.

James enters the room with his hat and wig in one hand and his bag in the other, and deposits them on the table before checking the swords that Will has brought. He does not look at either Will or Elizabeth, and her heart is racing madly. He holds out his hand for the bill and smoothes the paper over the table, bending his dark head to peruse it quickly before signing it. She wants nothing more than to know what is running through his mind at that moment, and she is stunned by that realisation. 

He signs the paper and comes to stand beside her, handing it to Will as he places a hand on her shoulder. ‘Everything seems to be in order, Mr Turner. My thanks for your prompt work.’

Will looks defiantly at him, and James meets his gaze steadfastly, his hand firm on her shoulder.

It is at that moment, she thinks, that she finally knows which of these men she loves with all her heart.

Will nods, and departs without another glance at either of them.

‘James—’ she turns to him in desperation, wanting to explain the scene he has just witnessed, but he quietens her by touching a fingertip to her lips.

‘Two weeks, Elizabeth,’ he says softly, and she looks helplessly back at him. He glances at the door, and then back at her. ‘Can you handle him by yourself? He seems a little… volatile.’

‘I can handle him, James,’ she says softly. 

He looks searchingly into her eyes for a moment, as if to ask, _Are you sure?_ She nods, answering his unspoken question. 

He frames her cheek briefly with his warm hand. ‘Take care of yourself, Elizabeth.’ 

And then he is gone. She hears his carriage rattle away from the house and sinks into a chair because her legs have turned to water.

 

—

 

After James’s departure, she returns to their bedroom and crawls into bed, her face pressed into his pillow, breathing in the smell of him. And she cries.

She cries for what seems like hours, cries until she has no tears left and she is heaving dry, empty sobs. 

At some point she falls asleep, exhausted by her outburst. When she awakes it is late in the evening and her stomach is aching with hunger. Ignoring the pangs, she quickly gets her bonnet and cloak and leaves the house.

She knows she will find Will at Mr Brown’s workshop, and sure enough, he is there. He lets her in quickly and shuts the door behind them.

‘Elizabeth, I’m sorry about this morning. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.’ His voice is pure and earnest, and she knows he means what he is saying.

She nods in acceptance of his apology, trying to gather the strength to say what she must say. 

‘Was he… was he very angry?’ he says uncertainly, his voice small.

‘No, Will. He is never angry.’

Suspicion flares in his eyes in an instant, and he takes a step toward her. ‘What does that mean?’ he says, his voice hardening a little.

‘It means that he is a good man. A better person than you or I will ever be.’

‘You speak as though you love him,’ he says, both pain and bewilderment in his voice now.

She raises her chin a little. ‘I do love him, Will.’

‘You fell in love with him in a _week_?’ he raises his voice sharply, disbelief written all over his face. ‘What did he do?’ he continues bitterly. ‘ _Fuck_ you into submission?’

She raises her hand and slaps his face as hard as she can.

He reels back, touching the imprint of her hand on his face. 

‘I’m not sorry I hit you,’ she says, her breathing ragged. ‘I would do it again.’

‘You hit me for him. For _his_ sake.’ His breathing is as harsh as hers, as if pain is lancing through him with every breath.

‘He does not deserve to be spoken of in that manner.’

‘And now you defend him.’ Will groans and turns away, picking up a sword. He turns to her, his eyes glazed, his knuckles white with the force of his grip on the hilt of the sword. 

‘Will,’ she says in alarm, taking a step back. He turns around and flings the sword across the room. It comes to rest in the wood of the door on the other side, its blade embedded deeply in the wood, rattling for several moments before it stills.

‘Get out of my sight,’ Will says over his shoulder.

She turns and flees, and does not stop running until she reaches the harbour.

 

—

 

She spends the next two weeks on the small island on which she and James had shared their only kiss. She misses him with all her heart, and hates herself with all her soul.

To have reduced sweet, lovely Will to such rage… To have caused James pain before his leaving, even if she had not intended to… The misery that she has caused them eats away at her spirit like acid, and she feels like no more than a shell of a person.

She survives on the meagre supplies stored in the small galley on James’s sloop. The island itself has plenty of fruit and a lagoon with fresh water, and does not allow her to starve to death, as she had half-hoped she would. She spends much of her time in the lagoon, swimming or simply floating, letting the cool water embrace her. It does not change what she has done, but it is a comfort to be there, to feel the water surrounding her bare body and to imagine that James has swum in the same water.

She is especially torn on the day of James’s return, having kept track of the days by scratching notches on the stone on which he had spread out their clothes to dry. Part of her wants nothing more than to go back home to him. She knows he will worry when he gets home and discovers that she has not been seen in two weeks. But part of her is also dead inside. It is the part that wishes she were dead, that does not want to punish him with her presence again.

She has gotten used to lighting a fire at nights, for light more than for warmth. She’s sitting cross-legged by her fire that night in James’s shirt and breeches, one of his books open on her lap, when she hears the splash of a boat coming into the cove.

She gets to her feet a moment before she sees him walking out of the water toward her. She stands rooted to the spot, all her instincts asking me to flee. Her body refuses to obey, her mind stunned into stillness.

‘I thought you might be here,’ James says softly as he stops at the other side of the fire, his eyes on her face.

‘I wasn’t intending to steal your boat,’ she says defensively, blurting out the only thing that comes to mind. 

‘I did say you could take it out any time you liked,’ James replies, his face expressionless. Is she imagining it, or is there the barest hint of amusement in his voice?

‘You had everyone worried, Elizabeth,’ he continues. ‘Mrs Danvers was in terror of what I would say when I got home and found that she had not seen you in two weeks. She went to your father, and he is beside himself with worry. After I met him, I went to Mr Turner’s. He told me what had happened when you visited him.’

She drops to her knees in the sand, clutching weakly at the ground. He is beside her in an instant, kneeling next to her, his arms around her. 

‘I should never have left you alone. Never,’ he says into her hair, his voice tight. She clutches blindly at his coat and screws up her eyes against the tears that threaten to break loose, but doing so does not help. Before she knows it, she is sobbing uncontrollably into his chest.

His arms tighten around her. ‘Sshh, love,’ he says softly, his lips against her hair. ‘It’s all right. Everything’s going to be all right.’ 

She sits back on her heels after several minutes, swiping at her wet face with the sleeve of her shirt. ‘Can you ever forgive me, James?’ 

He wipes her tear-streaked face with both his thumbs. ‘I believe you and William should be asking each other that.’

He keeps his hands on her face, and she rests her own hands on his forearms as she turns her eyes to the dark ocean. ‘I know I’ve wronged him terribly. But I might be able to live without his forgiveness. I cannot live without yours.’

‘Elizabeth, look at me.’ His hands slip from her face to her shoulders, and he shakes her gently. She turns her face back to his, loving him more than ever as her eyes meet his in the firelight.

‘Are you saying what I think you’re saying?’ he asks, and the uncertainty in his eyes tears at her heart.

‘I’m yours, James. Whether you will have me or not.’

His hands frame her face again, and he holds her gaze steadily. ‘Are you sure?’

She gazes back unflinchingly into his eyes. ‘I’m sure, James. With all my heart. With everything that I am.’

He gazes wonderingly at her for a long moment, his thumbs caressing mhery cheeks. ‘And William?’

She draws in a shaky breath. ‘I will try to make peace with him. But I will not go back to him, even if you will not have me.’

He smiles slightly. ‘I think you’ll find him suitably contrite. He was very apologetic about his behaviour the other day.’

‘As he should be,’ she says distractedly, her thoughts far away from Will now. 

‘I think’—James leans in close to her, his lips an inch from hers—‘that we should stop talking about Mr Turner now.’

‘I agree,’ she whispers an instant before his lips meet hers, and the world turns the right side up again.

After several moments, he pulls back and kisses the tip of her nose lightly. ‘Shall we go home now, Mrs Norrington?’

‘I thought you’d never ask,’ she smiles, and as he scoops her up in his arms and kisses her again, she knows that she is home at last.


End file.
